Drug
by Esmerald tears
Summary: She couldn’t have fallen into the clichéd ‘I’m in love with my best friend and I never knew it’ situation, right? But alas, she needed him, she wanted him. Harry Potter was Hermione Granger's heroin. One shot.


Drug

A/N: Hello everybody- This is a short one shot that simply came to my mind while I was watching the PPP (really...). I think that this is pure, unfiltered fluff, so if this isn't your thing... Set in seventh year.

I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I just own the plot, which I hope is at least enjoyable.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

He was a drug, yes, he was. His very presence was intoxicating; he didn't even need to speak or move. Being with him was like injecting peace into her veins; like swallowing a pill that made her feel happy and secure; like... like _absorbing_ strength and well being... Hermione happened to be hopelessly addicted to Harry- caine. It was a crappy name for her drug, she knew, but she didn't care. She was a complete Harry-caine junkie.

And why was she comparing Harry to drugs, anyway? Shouldn't she be finishing these obnoxious Arithmancy problems? Hermione eyed the sums on her parchment and sighed.

Her sixth year felt like being on cold turkey 24/7, especially when Harry started dating Ginny. She was fine with it the first week (dammit, she had even congratulated Ginny), but, slowly, Hermione started to notice that Ginny squealed too much. Then, Hermione noticed that her redheaded friend didn't care about what Harry said, and just agreed to it without further question. During the second week, since Harry and Ginny kissed, Hermione started to find Ginny's attempts of being funny ('much more macho'? honestly...) incredibly annoying; and let's no even go into her attempts of trying to become one with the Golden Trio. Finally, Hermione unflinchingly categorized Ginny as an air headed fangirl.

Then she realized that she was just jealous.

But jealous of what? Not of the fangirl, surely? Why? It wasn't like Hermione fancied Harry! No, Hermione Granger couldn't have fallen into that clichéd 'I'm in love with my best friend and I never knew it' situation, right? But alas, as destiny had apparently dictated, Hermione discovered that she was indeed part of the 'Harry Potter is Just Divine' cult. She needed him, she wanted him, and if Harry didn't like her, then damn, he wasn't allowed to like anyone else. Harry Potter was Hermione's heroin.

Drugs allusions again. She sounded like a stalker. A drug addicted stalker. Maybe she needed help. Hermione snorted at this thought, doodling two H's on her parchment. Harry and Hermione. It had a nice ring to it, didn't it? Hermione frowned as she wrote Harry's name, and then hers below it. She needed a code name; no self respectable Head Girl (and bookworm with top grades) could allow anyone to think that she was acting like a twelve year old with a crush. Hermione pouted and dipped the quill in the small flask full of ink, and narrowed her eyes as she stared at the names on the page. After a few minutes she grinned and carefully placed the quill on the paper.

_Harmony_

Perfect. 'Harmione' didn't make any sense, and it was too obvious. Harmony was just fantastic: it embodied everything their relationship was. And it looked so nice there, written on her homework paper...

She needed therapy; Harry had addled her mind. She was worse than Lavender and Parvati- She had stepped down to their level! During many months, Hermione had wondered if Harry felt the same or if she should confess him what she really felt and hope for the best, or maybe she should ignore everything and try to carry on with her life? She had tried the latter during sixth year, and she always felt like she had a mosquito bite that she couldn't scratch, but if she didn't scratch it then there was no feeling of satisfaction because it wasn't itching anymore, and so she kept scratching it and scratching it and-

Well, you surely get the idea.

But she still kept it quiet. Harry Potter was Hermione's... er... secret love. Her dirty little secret. Hermione's hidden, secret, passionate love.

It sounded like a cheap porn book title.

Hermione laughed at loud when she thought this, making the person sitting next to her to look at her weirdly, but she didn't care. She needed to stop thinking about Harry, because she was never going to finish this... In Hermione's opinion, the fact that Harry could distract her from schoolwork was enough proof that she loved him a little too much for her own taste. What was he doing in this precise moment? On the Quidditch Pitch with Ron. Could he be thinking of her, too? Did he miss her?

Oh, honestly.

How old was she? Hermione couldn't be thinking these things. It had been so strange, the way she had realized she liked him. One day he was just her brother, and two weeks later he was the love of her life. What the...? Did those things happen? Was it just her? Maybe it was his smile- Hermione could stare at him smiling forever. Or his voice. She would gladly ask him to read _New Theory of Numerology_ out loud and she'd lie there, drooling and charmed.

This was so ridiculous, but it felt so marvellously good. Why should she be worrying about how stupid she sounded? She was enjoying this, wasn't she? She was happy, right? One 'good morning' from him and Hermione's day was made. Damn it! She was happy all the time, she enjoyed helping him with his homework, and she felt like laughing all the time. For goodness sake, she was obsessed over a _smile_!

She was not only in love... She was _stupidly_ in love! She was turning into the cheesy girls she used to roll her eyes at! This is pathetic! Since when the ever logical Hermione Granger made up code names for the boy she fancied? Unheard of! Unacceptable!

Then why did she like it so bloody much?

Hermione let out a long sigh and with a snap closed her Arithmancy book, knowing that she wouldn't be able to finish anything today. After all it was Easter break, and she should be out there cheering Ron up and getting heart attacks over Harry's pirouettes in the air, and not here in the library musing over how tacky and sappy she had gotten over the years. Hermione flung the book bag over her shoulder and walked out of the library, yawning. She slowly made her way towards the Gryffindor tower, feeling her stomach rumble. Great, now she was acting like Ron.

When she finally reached the Fat Lady's portrait she said the password and climbed through the hole. Not even bothering to go up the Girls dorms to leave her bag there, she simply walked over to the biggest couch and heavily threw herself over it, not noticing that there was someone else already there.

"I'm sorry!" Hermione exclaimed worriedly, jumping up with she felt the 'ooof' come from under her.

"Nice to see you too," Harry greeted her with a smile, rubbing his stomach in mock pain. Hermione smiled back at him and sat down on his stretched legs. "Are you planning to cut my blood circulation?" Hermione bit her lower lip with a grin and softly slapped his arm.

"Shut up. How was practice?" She wanted to know, leaning against the couch.

"We missed your gasps and Molly like behaviour, but other than that, it was great," he trailed off. "What about you?" Hermione frowned.

"I couldn't finish homework." Harry raised his eyebrows at this, shocked, and Hermione pursed her lips in vain attempts to hide a smile. "I had other things on my mind," she added, leaning slightly over Harry, who smiled widely.

"Our eight month anniversary?" He suggested. Hermione grinned and leaned closer still, starting to run her fingers through his hair.

"Nope," she whispered. Harry's hands automatically went to her waist as she softly kissed his temple, his scar, and finally let her face hover over his, boring her eyes into his.

"What else could be so important?" Harry questioned in a low voice. Hermione smiled.

"Drugs," she breathed before she crushed his lips with hers.

-+-+-

A/N: Loved it? Liked it? Hated it (if that is the case, be nice while telling me so, or simply hit the back button)? For those who did like it... Please review! Happy Easter!


End file.
